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a poem 



BY 



MARY RANDALL SHIPPEY 



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NEW YORK 
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Copyright, 190 J/., by Robert Grier Cooke 



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The author of Soeur Marie has solved the problem 
of the soul that she sought to explain : — Eight years 
ago she passed from tliis life. The poem is an origi- 
nal attempt, of a woman, to give an answer to the 
questions of the soul. It owes little to books, but 
much to conversation and experience of the heart. 
There will be found in the poem a minor tone of music 
running through its lines app^rt from the incident 
and metre — who can say.'' Does not the soul in 
Earth-life, now and then, come clearly to knowledge 
and expression of itself.'' It is always insistent, but 
material needs engross the intellect and rarely can 
the soul compel recognition. A few through the 
ages have kept truth, some find it, and it is given 
when it will be received. 



^oeur JEarte 



I KNEW her only as a gray-garbed nun 
Whose gentle mission took her wheresoe'er 
A wearied body or grief-sickened heart 
Had need of rest and that sure heahng wrought 
By her soft touch and low sweet-cadenced voice. 

By what thrice-blessed chance she came to be 
The star that fixed my Hfe's uncertain course, 
Were briefly told: — The kindly, keen-eyed friend 
Whose ready skill to read the cause of things 
Beneath their seeming, came thro' many years 
Of ceaseless work among his suffering kind. 
Discerned my need and sent me Sceur Marie. 

"A nurse for you." So said the kind, keen eyes 
When first they saw my languid look infold 
The restful garb and quiet, tender face. 
No more it seemed a thing to question then. 
To my sick heart and thought-refusing brain, 
Than if he'd shut a rose, dew-kissed, within 
My helpless hand and said, " a flower for you." 

1 



How many days and nights she patient watched 
Within that darkened room, I never knew ; 
For memory dates from that fair morning when 
Like one new-born, I woke to know and feel 
The something more that marked the watcher there 
From those gray shapes that peopled all my dreams. 

How soft she moved with that sure poise and grace 
No art can teach but only consciousness 
Of having found the mission and the place 
By Heaven intended. So the lily moves 
On slender, swaying stem her regal head, 
Each undulating motion : — saying : — " See 
How beautiful a thing it is to be ! 
O gracious moment that conceived it meet 
That I should grow and just be fair and sweet! " 

When from that haunted, grief-englamoured room 
First ventured I into the great clean world, — 
My world of arching skies and sweet new air — • 
'Twere hard to tell if most I joyed or grieved. 

Thro' all the long, slow, convalescing days 
Conspired the gracious ministrants of health — 
The tempered air, the smiling April sun. 
The happy birds, the little growing things 
To lure the soul back to its cage again. 
And Soeur Marie's low voice and gentle touch 

2 



Seemed but a chord the more in that full theme, 
The jubilate of the waking spring. 

And ah! the deep, sweet joy to feel again 
That boundless heart — the mighty mother heart 
That knows no change, still beating warm and true ; 
Within her tireless arms to lie at rest, 
A child once more ; to be again caressed 
After long parting; — were that not joy? — and yet, 
Do hearts 'neath mother-kisses straight forget 
All tears and aches, or but the keener sense 
By contrast with her touch the bleeding wounds 
Fresh stabbed by hands less gentle? 

Lethean-sweet 
The peace and rest of those long dreamful days 
To my worn spirit. One by one the keys 
That grief had worn to wearying dissonance, 
Regained their rightful tones. My lyric soul 
Awoke to feel once more its myriad strings 
A nearing subtle, full, symphonious touch 
With nature's music. But as daily grew 
The harmony more perfect, so increased 
The one o'er-strained chord's discrepant sound, 
.Grown thrice discordant where would else abound 
Fine consonance and peace inviolate. 

What taught the heart that beat so evenly 
Beneath that soft gray garb, to feel the hurt 

3 



Deep hidden in another, or to trace 
With such un-erring swiftness to the cause, 
I could not then divine ; so when my nurse 
Let fall one day the volume from her hands 
And clasping mine, at once began to speak 
As she had read more clearly in my look 
My inmost soul than from the printed book 
The author's thought, in my first great surprise 
I turned in half resentment from her eyes. 

But not like others was my Soeur Marie, 
And stooping o'er me as an angel might 
She gently whispered, " Child, I know your pain ; 
May I not know the hidden cause as well? 

Forgive, if too abruptly thus aside 
I thrust the veil so closely drawn to hide 
Your aching wound ; 'tis but that I may find 
Some means of swifter healing, that so keen 
I make the hurt. — Look in my eyes, dear soul, 
And read if aught has moved me thus to speak 
All uninvited, save the tender throb 
Of woman's love to woman. — Do not fear 
To let poor nature have her way ; outpour 
As freely all your pent-up pain as though 
Your heart alone were listener. Dear one, know 
The power to read your suffering thus doth prove 
" My right divine to share it, — right of love." 

4 



What magic lingered in her simple words 
I cannot say ; but this I know, they wrought 
A mighty change within: up-rose the flood 
Of stormy feeling: — barriers builded strong 
Of stern reserve on piers of granite pride 
Were swept away. Upon that gentle breast 
I bowed my head and let the hot tears flow. 
By tender words and tactful questioning 
She won my halting, still-reluctant tongue 
To freer speech until at last was told 
The bitter story of my loss and wrong. 
Thrice bitter from such wretched commonness 
As bars its right of repetition here. 

A battle lost; — an upright nature lured 
From honor and from love; — a ruined home;- 
A broken heart ; — a wife's unswerving faith 
Dragged in the dust. Such scorious elements 
Have based most oft that unheroic tale, 
A woman's story, since the world begun. 
Who knows not all the sequel ere is done 
The dull prelude? Yet nothing common-place 
In its recital found my Soeur Marie. 
My watchful pride, alert to guard my hurt 
From prying, or from merely pitying eyes. 
Detected naught in her fair, speaking face 
But sweet compassion — ^that fine sympathy 



A lofty soul feels for another soul 
Held of itself a part. 

Her clasping hands 
In silent eloquence, attested oft 

How well she guessed what shafts but slightly pierced 
Which deepest sunk, and which had left behind 
The subtlest poison. While she listened so 
It almost seemed her own had been the hurt 
Instead of mine. 

I can recall no word 
She spoke in comfort or in counsel then ; 
But when the days in passing so had made 
Familiar this new sharing of my grief 
That I no longer shrank from open speech. 
She turned one day, and in that low-keyed voice 
That made her converse seem no less a part 
Of nature's music than the tender sighs 
Soft breathed above us thro' the wind-kissed pines. 
She questioned thus : — " If it be not too great 
Presumption on the part of one who comes 
With but a recent claim upon your trust. 
May I old friendship's right so far usurp 
To ask you somewhat of your future plans .^^ " 

A moment I was dumb, so strange to me 
Her question seemed, and then I made reply : 
" I have no plans. 'Tis only those who hold 
6 



Some purpose dear who motive find for plans. 
There are, I know, some natures so endowed 
With self-igniting, deathless elements, 
That disappointment only seems to serve 
As fuel to their hope. Not so with mine : 
I staked my all and lost. Henceforth for me 
To live, is to endure as best I may 
The common lot, but not to hope or plan." 

A silence fell ; in dreary retrospect 
I gazed adown the changeful, stormy years 
That summed my past: — a charred and blackened 

waste 
Where straight young growths with leaf and bloom 

had been 
Flame-swept with still their promise undefined. 

O bitter moment in a woman's life 
That brings the awful willingness to blot 
From memory all the sacred name of " wife " 
Evokes of joy, if so may be forgot 
The deathless grief ! That moment came to me 
In that brief silence; — was its passion writ 
Upon my face? Perchance, for Soeur Marie 
Next spoke as she indeed had fathomed it. 

" Dear, in your nature lie, thick-sown, the germs 
Of strength and energy ; no accident 

7 



That may retard the growth, can sap the life 

Stored up within them. You are one of those 

Who, thro' a long ancestral line have come 

To rich inheritance of heart and brain : 

One rare possession, — yours by truest right 

Of self-accretion, — that fine, flexile will 

That lends itself a ready instrument 

To mighty purposes, renders you more free 

Than many be to choose and shape your life. 

To sit in passive, dumb endurance thro' 

The years that stretch from now to listless age^ 

Were wanton waste thro' wilful negligence 

Of riches, — not capriciously bestowed 

By partial Providence, — but garnered up 

Atom by atom, painfully and slow. 

Thro' countless lives by countless millions lived. 

You think my words too earnest, — all too grave 
The import I ascribe to one small life.? 
O could you know the depth of reverence 
And awe a pure and richly dowered soul 
Can stir within me, rather would you be 
Amazed that I in such poor, common speech 
A theme so sacred dare so near approach ! 

In all the heights and depths of all the worlds 
Of which imagination holds conceit. 
Go find me aught whose worth and majesty 

8 



Dwarf not beside a single human soul. 

What else so vast in possibilities ; 

So broad to grasp creation's mighty plan; 

So keen to search its subtlest secrets out ; 

So deep to sound the purposes that be 

Forever and forever fathomless? 

And what in boundless aspiration soars 

So high to touch the God-hood it adores? 

Say not that any words these lips can frame 
Too earnest be ! Would that the gift were mine 
To thrill you with such fervid eloquence 
You could not choose but let your thought expand 
Beneath its glow, till lifting it should soar 
Above these clouds so heavy with your tears, 
And in the bright air pulsing with the warmth 
Of God's own love should meet the holy truth 
That waits the recognition of your soul." 

She ceased, and in her pure, up-lifted face 
I gazed in wonder, so transfigured seemed 
Its outlines. Thro' the wide, calm, steadfast eyes 
All luminous with feeling, softly streamed 
The white effulgence from the altar flame 
That lit the inner temple of her soul. 
Was it this light, or her impassioned words, 
Or might of both that so resistless moved 
Upon the night and chaos of my world? 

9 



A heart too often cheated of its hope 
Is prone to guard full jealously the door 
Where promise enters. If my Soeur Marie 
Had sought, by wisest words to conjure forth 
The ghosts of such ambitions and desires 
As wrought me such disaster in their death, 
She must have failed; but something in her speech 
Struck deeper than the burnt-out strata where 
The tender germs of hope had blighted been. 
Some deep, long-buried world of consciousness 
Seemed touched and quickened till in dim array 
Came thronging forth the pictures it had stored 
Of purer aspirations, fairer hopes 
Than life as I had known it, fostered faith 
To realize and mold to living forms. 

I could not voice at once the surging thoughts 
That swept my being as a tidal wave 
Rising from memory's sea ; but when the ebb 
That follows fast upon the mightiest flow 
Had left me free to scan the fresh-laved shore, 
I found strange creatures, — bits of weed, and shells 
That sang a sad sea-music to my ear: — 
The songs of half-remembered long-agos. 

Wild longings woke, and restless questionings 
Pressed upward to my lips, where doubtful words 
Some hint of their significance conveyed 

10 



To Soeur Marie. She gave them clearer form 
And force more definite in speech somewhat hke 
this : — 

" Is it so new, this thought that every soul, 
However meanly dowered, or richly graced, 
Is but the growth of ages : — that we come 
Into the world or well or ill equipped 
According to our merit, and the stage 
Of progress that as conscious beings we 
Have reached in common with the growing race? 

I know how strange at first this doctrine falls 
On ears accustomed to those rock-walled creeds 
Whose thund'rous booms alarm the fleets of reason. 

From childhood we unthinkingly accept 
The common teaching that each new-born soul 
Comes as a fresh creation from God's hand; 
Nor dare to question why the handiwork 
Is laid aside in so unfinished form. 
Or why such crude conceptions shadow forth 
To travesty divine imagination. 

Between perverted reverence that fears. 
And indolence that shirks the fullest use 
Of human rights, we crush the insistent " Why " 
That seeks to force an entrance for the light 
Of brave research that would solution find 
For many a painful riddle in our life. 

11 



We speak of God as Justice, Truth and Love, 
Nor heed the bitter facts of every-day 
That rise in stern dispute. We see around 
Us want and woe and jealousy and strife 
And hate and fear and hardened selfishness, — 
Off -sprung from inequalities that we 
Affect a resignation to accept 
As part and purpose of an all-wise plan. 

Yet who that truly thinks, or fearless looks 
At life in all its aspects, can discern 
Thro' light of human love and justice, aught 
To draw his worship toward a Being who 
Has so created and so fixed by law 
Each soul and its conditions that to strive 
Were worse than vain? 'Twould better far accord 
With what our inmost hearts can recognize 
Of love and justice, to believe that He 
Who gives us being, gives us equal chance 
To climb by divers upward-leading ways — 
That each may choose according to his will — 
To that attainment and that perfect rest 
The spirit longs for. As each human soul 
From every other differs, so no two 
The self-same path shall choose: neither shall seek 
The self -same goal. Yet each alike shall find 
Complete fulfilment of his true desire, — 
See God indeed, and know that He is good ! " 

12 



Her words that found their joyous echo in 
My heart of hearts, awoke besides such doubts 
As had their root in long-f amihar creeds ; — 
Not all unquestioned neither yet denied. 
So thus I asked : — " How can you reconcile 
This faith in God's impartial love that gives 
An equal chance to all, with that so far 
From equal distribution of good gifts 
We see on every side? How comes it that 
These inequalities and wrongs exist 
To work such woe? " 

She smiled, then gently answered: 
" Let us turn a page in nature's book, for there. 
Unspoiled by poor translation, we may read 
God's freshly written text. One summer day 
I climbed a richly wooded peak that rose 
In fair New England's range ; the forest stood 
In all its native grandeur of wild growth 
Untouched by woodsman's craft; and high and wide, 
So leaf-form, tint and texture ail were lost 
In deep, o'er-shadowing gloom, the towering crowns 
Were proudly reared. Yet marked I how the trunks 
Of Beeches, Poplars, Maples, even Oaks, 
For generations striving toward the sky, 
Had gained far less in girth than two decades 
Of growth in sunny freedom should achieve. 

I marvelled with a sense of keenest pain 
13 



To see these scions of a kingly race 

So puny and so starved ; but wandering on 

I noted here and there a giant stem 

Wrapped in its swarthy, tattered cloak of tan, — 

The very type of rough and savage king. 

At first I failed to guess the monarch's name 
So loftily he bore his shaggy head 
Amid the sombre shade; but when anon 
An unkempt lock, down drooping from the rest, 
Betrayed him of the Hemlock's gypsy race, 
I smiled and no more wondered at the small- 
Girthed oaks and puny maples. Here the wild, 
Free Ishmael of the wood had nurture found 
Best suited to his needs, and growing strong 
And lusty in his youth, had far outstripped 
And over-topped the young patricians who 
In weakliness had quailed beneath his frown. 

This picture I have oft recalled and oft 
Have wondered by what chance or what design 
Of Nature's fickle will, this upstart king 
Had gained his despot sway. The sources whence 
He drew his sustenance, I recognized 
To be less deep than those the gentler race 
Stretched finer souls to feed from. Him, I knew 
Heredity's great law would yet compel 
To yield his might-won throne, and then methought, 

14 



Perchance when come the true and rightful heirs 
Into their own, that haply they shall find 
New source of strength and richer elements 
Of life because of this usurper's reign. 

The fancy pleased me and I loved to think 
'Twas all in line of purpose subtly planned 
By that wise planner, Nature, whose fixed law 
Gives justice to her children. Low and high. 
Strong, weak, bad, good, the perfect and the crude, — 
Each has its turn: each sees its one glad day 
Of triumph and of conquest: knows for once 
The fulness of its power, then dies content. 

Nor is this all: — beneath the outward show 
Of love impartial, lies a deeper law 
Of higher justice based on larger love: 
For when to satisfy the righteous claim 
Upon her motherhood, wise nature gives 
To those short-lived, crude, coarse, and selfish things 
She brings to being, all their greed will take, 
'Tis not to rob her dearer children, whom 
She destines for a broader, richer life 
And higher purpose. That were never love, 
And nature is most loving and most wise : 
For while the claim of each she satisfies, 
She also sees that each in living out 
To full fruition all its selfish greed 

15 



Demands of being, so shall minister 
All unawares, to other lives, and yield 
At last in full content its store of will — 
Intensified and focused by self-love — 
To energize and aid some higher life. 

In great creation's fine economy 
Naught serves itself alone. The seeming foul 
Gives fuller life and beauty to the fair : 
Evil is good disguised: good knows no ultimate 
To-day's perfection hints to-morrow's dream 
Of loftier ideals. But my theme I fear 
Has lured me further than I meant to stray 
Into that realm — to me most dear and real — 
Where bright imagination sits supreme, 
Fair queen and regal mistress of the mind. 

I know you see my fancy's trend and draw 
From my most free translation vastly more 
Than lends itself to fixed forms of speech. 
Nor need I point for you the analogue : — 
As nature with her own, so even He, 
The loving power she mirrors, deals with His. 
And nothing He has fashioned can be lost. 
Forgotten, or neglected: neither let 
To taste that bitter, heart-corroding draught 
We term injustice. 

16 



When the time shall come 
For the last trial at those composite sums 
We call our lives, and we are smiling shown 
The method of their working, and the way 
We missed the rule and strangely overlooked 
Some plain, prime factors : when for us is found 
The final answer, and with other sums 
Our own we shall compare, to find that none 
Than ours was easier of solution : none more full, 
Complete and perfect in its last result; 
Then shall we know that that soul-chilling thing 
We named " injustice " nowhere findeth place 
In the true plan. Bom of our mortal loves. 
Ignorance and passions, it holds no elements 
Long to survive death of the mortal in us." 

A curious consciousness of some unseen 
Subjective self, responding ardently 
To all the outlined and suggested truths 
Her words conveyed, possessed me, tho' my mind 
Quite failed to clearly grasp their larger import. 

No comment seemed at once appropriate, 
And with the hope indelibly to fix 
On memory's scroll the graphic imagery 
Of her unstudied speech, I silent sat. 
Till lengthening shadows warned my gentle nurse 
That my too brief, blue-vaulted day was ended. 



17 



Ere April's pledges fairly were redeemed 
In foliate May, my fast returning strength 
Permitted me to seek the scented wood 
Whose dim cathedral vistas from afar 
Had long allured. Here stood the patriarch pines, 
Those wise high-priests of Nature, set to guard 
Her old alchemic rites, and tirelessly 
To chant her changeless hymns of incantation. 

Beneath their outstretched, peace-invoking hands 
For hours together, Sceur Marie and I 
Roamed in our ever-fascinating quest 
Of coyly-hiding, thickly-clustering vines 
All blossom-gemmed. Spring's sweetest harbinger, 
And then in some moss-cushioned, sunny nook 
We'd sit for quiet converse, while we culled 
Our fragrant treasure over. 

Thus apart 
From all the pettiness of indoor life 
And narrowing conventions, I could come 
Somewhat in touch with that large restfulness 
That so enhanced the ever-varying charm 
And strong attractiveness that Sceur Marie's 
Whole presence breathed. This restfulness I grew. 
By my slow processes to recognize 
As largely due to her rare, subtle, keen. 
Profoundly mystic sympathy with nature. 
And yet I know there was a something else — 

18 



A something not so readily explained 

In her assured serenity and poise. 

And powerfully this subtle something drew 

And held my interest, so intangible 

And all-elusive was it to my mind's 

Most keen pursuit; nor would it let me rest 

For fast-increasing wish to analyze 

And clear-define it. 

More and more each day 
Her conversation evidenced a broad, 
Unique experience of what I named — 
For lack of other term — " religious life " ; 
And yet so altogether genuine was she, 
So obviously original her every phrase 
And turn of speech, even her mode of thought 
And line of argument, that much was I perplexed 
To reconcile her fresh, sweet sentiments 
And wholesome ethics, with my preconceit — 
Not flattering — as touching on the views 
And canting habit of religious zealots. 

I tried to think my ignorance of the ways 
And faiths of all recluses so had lent 
This halo of vague mystery I felt 
Surrounding Soeur Marie: and so dismissed 
The oft-recurring puzzle; nor perceived 
What time it fast was ripening to solution. 

19 



My undisguised pleasure in her speech, 
What-e'er the time or subject, naturally 
Induced from her a happy unrestraint 
And frankness of expression, thro' which I 
Was free to scan at will her inner life, 
While consciousness of spiritual poverty 
On my own part, before her opulence 
Most often kept me silent. 

But one day 
Her more than common warmth and unreserve 
So startled me, — discovering as it did 
Apparent firm persuasion on her part 
Of my complete response and sympathy, — 
That I began to feel tliis silentness 
Had been unpardonable. A tingling sense 
Of inward shame at my unworthiness. 
And deep chagrin that she should so mistake 
My sentiments, wrought upon me. Soeur ]Marie 
Might even think that she had found a firm 
True proselyte, or — barring this, — at least 
A faithful sympathizer, predisposed 
To favor her pecuhar creed or order. 

A strong revolt from this so likely chance 
Of flagrant misconception, plus the sense 
Of all the depths and distances that yawned 
Impassable between us, quickened me 

SO 



To hasty protest, and inadvertently 

Compelled the breach of that cold reticence 

That held me mute whenever spiritual 

And personal themes approached consociation. 

An opportune remark from her, at length 

Gave me the wished for opening, and then 

I stood not on the order of my speech : — 

" But Soeur Marie, the wisdom of your words — 

Tho' plainly I perceive for such as you. 

Yet are they not entirely wise for me. 

By widely different worlds we have been shaped,- 

Our natures tuned to wholly different keys. 

Had I in early life been taught as you, — 

Had I absorbed the creed of selflessness 

And sweet humility: been set apart 

Por special service: learned the blessedness 

Of pure — unselfish striving for the good: — 

In short had education placed a goal 

For me like that which upward lures your soul, 

And all such souls as consecrate themselves 

Like you in early youth, it might not be 

Impossible that there is that within 

My inmost nature that should make of me 

A woman who like you could live the life 

And joy in living. 

But think how different 
Have been my aims, my hopes and purposes. 

21 



To bring the fragments of a nature wrecked 
Upon the stormy sea of worldhness, 
And lay upon that holy altar where 
Naught but the first and best should offered be, 
Were veriest sacrilege. Ah! Soeur Marie, 
I feel the fulness of your sympathy 
And bless you for it. Still I can but know 
That there are chapters in my shipwrecked life 
You can but guess at. Shielded by your name 
And order, you perforce have haply missed 
Experience which alone can fully teach 
How hearts can feel and how completely break. 
You think that I can find new ideals, hopes, 
To build myself around. — ^Ah! had you known 
In all your gentle life a love and loss 
Like mine, sweet friend, no need were now to 

frame 
In words to you the bitter hopeless truth — 
My soul has lost the power to strive again." 

In simple honesty I longed to prove 
What soon or late my friend was doomed to find. 
That all her loving efforts had been vain. 
And in the earnestness of my desire 
To make myself and my position clear, 
I grew oblivious of Soeur Marie 
And shaped my words to fit the saintly nun. 

22 



Her utter stillness and her unresponse 
To my long speech recalled me to myself, 
When deep contrition seized me; for the face, 
Always so calm and pure, was shadowed o'er 
With such a look as moved me swift to say : — 
" Have I so hurt you? Pardon, Soeur Marie! " 

She took my proffered hands and mutely bent 
Her face above them, while I remorseful sat 
Waiting for her to speak. 

" Dear heart," at last she said, 
" No need is there to crave or grant excuse. 
'Twas not your words that hurt, but memories 
Long buried, that have thrilled to life again 
And quivering agony. 

I see that you. 
Mis-led by my vocation, garb and name, 
Have read me and my motives all amiss. 

You asked me nothing of my past, and I 
Presumed that you had rightly guessed or heard 
Some knowledge of my order. This gray garb 
Marks me not one of that great sisterhood 
Who count themselves most blest and nearest Christ 
When closest shut from Christ's great suffering 

world. 
With no religious order, faith, or creed 
Am I identified: nor am I bound 



By any code that righteous men have fixed 
As needful hedge for most of mortal kind. 

In life's great school of human joy and pain 
Long years ago I took my full degree. 
I learned that good and evil, right and wrong, 
Joy, sorrow, peace and pain, are only names 
For such so infinitely varied states 
As each may only enter for himself 
And for himself define. In me was fought 
That battle where the spirit meets its last. 
Worst enemy, — the Self, — and conquering 
Or conquered, evermore must justly know 
Its weakness or its strength. The victory 
So hardly won and at such frightful cost 
That long the doubt remained if victory 
It really were, — or only truce perforce, — • 
Left my spent spirit sorrowing in the dust, 
All shorn of victor's pride. 

Ah ! no one — none 
■" Hath knowledge how much blood it costs ! " and 
Was mercifully dazed, nor fully woke 
To the keen sense of all my fearful loss 
In that fierce struggle, till within my soul 
Had dawned full knowledge of my priceless gain. 

I went into the contest fettered, bound : — 
The brand of many a coward master on me. 

24 



Tradition, fear, love of the world's dear praise. 
Distrust of my own powers and doubt of God's, 
All lashed my soul and mocked its claims to freedom. 
And crudest of all that crippled me, — 
Dragging so at my heart strings, — was the strong. 
Deep-rooted love for the dear foe I challenged. 

Not mine, ah no ! not mine, — such victory 
As there was gained ! For when my weak heart fal- 
tered. 
And must straightway have yielded, lo ! an arm 
That never fails the valiant who succumbs 
Not till he must, was stretched in my defence. 

When next we met, — my king of foes and all 
That horde that once through him had fettered me, 
I fearless faced them, knowing I was free. — 

And now unshackled by the iron law 
Of the world's right, I take the one straight way 
My feet must follow, — be it rough or smooth 
Or lead where-e'er it may, — so I but see 
The light ahead that leads my spirit on 
To larger life and wisdom. 

They who hold 
Such freedom dangerous, and strive to map 
Such various roads as all may safely walk 
Nor go amiss, are right and wise: — 'tis true 



That many — mayhap all — at some time need 

Such guidance and restriction as the learned 

In moral lore can offer and enforce. 

But here and there among the multitude 

Some soul, full sharply tried because full strong 

To stand the test, is by such trial freed 

From bondage to the common law. To such, 

The codes that one time proved such needful props. 

Become grave obstacles to further growth: 

How then to pass these hurtful bounds and yet 
Hold fixed and true to each unwritten law 
They sharp define, is that grave question which 
Such souls must face and solve if they would climb 
The eternal heights of peace. 

Dear, strong, brave woman, — ^loving, constant, 
true, — 
Unwittingly your soul has borne the test 
Of pain's baptismal fires. You think the flames 
That scorched so deep have blasted root and germ 
Past hope of resurrection. 'Tis not so. 
The happy garden of your girlish dreams. 
So full of promise and fresh budding hopes, 
Is swept away, I grant, and nevermore 
On earth shall grow its like for you again. 

But tell me, dear, — nor think I ask to pain, — 
Nor yet to judge as if I had discerned 

^6 



Some fault of nature in you, — 'tis as if 
My very self I questioned, — tell me then 
If in that garden there had nothing grown 
Beyond your strength to weed : that you now feel 
Were well destroyed. Could you this moment pray 
To have the whole restored? Free now to choose, 
Would you have back unchanged in anything 
Your vanished world? Your eyes have answered 

me. 
That darkening shade of pain and lurking fear 
Tells all I need to know. 

And yet for me 
Who hold my past, — e'en all my saddest past — 
A faithful counsellor, trusty guide and friend 
To lead me thro' such shadow-misted ways 
As mark my untried future, it would seem 
Strange mockery indeed to bid you turn 
From your dead world and hasten to forget. 

Forgotten merely, pain's residium 
Will linger and corrode beneath the scar 
That marks the outward healing ; but if held 
In safe solution by humility 
And wise submission. Time's sure alchemy 
Will so transmute pain's crudest elements 
That only in their purest ultimate, 
Beneficient and healing, shall they rise 
To mingle with the spirit." 



The subtle, sweet, 
Compelling dominant, that ever set 
Some new chord vibrant in me, thrilling it 
To yearning, vague, elusive, wavering touch 
With something dear and distant, like the dim, 
Far, half-remembered music of a dream, 
Was in her accents. And from somewhere 'neath 
The glacier-hardened crust where stonily 
Had lain my heart, there leapt a sudden flame. 

Whence came this rare white soul of womanhood 
I knew as Soeur Marie.? Whence all her wisdom? 
By what privilege, vouchsafed to her beyond 
The common right of mortals, had she gained 
This certainty of knowledge, this calm peace. 
This strength, this poise, this saint's courageousness. 
That all my soul with sudden passion envied.? 

The questions that I framed gave little hint 
Of the fierce, strong, imperious demand 
For fuller knowledge of her that this slight 
Revealment of herself had roused within me. 

" How is it then," I queried, " that you wear 
This nun's attire, and sacrifice your life 
To gentle service, seeking no return 
For all you give in lavish tenderness 
Of your heart's best, thro' these dear angel hands.? — 
Sweet Sister of Compassion that you are! 



With gifts like yours, the unattainable 
Of this world's goals could scarce exist, and yet 
You seem indifferent, or wholly free 
From worldly aims. Why are your hopes and dreams 
So lifted and remote from all that stirs 
The common heart and wakes it to ambition? 

Since you disclaim the cloister I confess 
Myself perplexed indeed, concerning you. 
Some spiritual order sometime, surely, must 
Have nurtured you, else how come you to be 
Your dear peculiar self, — and how called Soeur 
Marie.?" 

"A faith and order spiritual indeed. 
Though not religious, — in the straightened sense: 
Ecclesiastical, — I do acknowledge. 
'Tis true they call me ' Soeur,' and many led 
By that, my mission, and this gray attire 
To hasty inference, conclude that ' nun ' 
Is my appropriate title. Ne'er-the-less 
The word's a sobriquet and hardly fitting. 

You must have marked how different is my garb 
From that made so familiar to your eyes 
By pale recluses, or those gentle Soeurs 
De Merci, who like shadowy spirits strayed 

^9 



From some dead planet, take their silent way 
Among us, yet not of us. 

Be it far 
From my sincere intention to suggest 
Comparisons invidious ; the pure 
Devoted, patient lives and countless deeds 
Of sacrifice and noiseless charity 
That stand accounted, to that faithful band 
Commands from me respect and reverence 
Most genuine and deep. And, lest fuller light 
Upon their faith and principles might shame 
A present judgment, let me not presume 
To criticise what certainly would seem 
But slavish bending to a priestly rule 
And superstitious custom in their rites, 
And curious grave-like vestments. 

Be all that 
However as it may, it not concerns 
My present subject save as it may serve 
To emphasize some points of difference 
Between them and my order. Not for us 
The pale disfiguring band that straightly hides 
The noblest feature of the human face ; — 
That feature where, if anywhere, God stamps 
The impress of His thought. — Neither the close- 
Wound curve-concealing wimple, nor the veil 
Do we affect, but leave each happiest grace 

30 



Of form and feature beautiful and free 

As nature modelled it. No sympathy 

Have we with those harsh creeds whose tenets teach 

The beauty of holiness but quite forget 

The holiness of beauty. We believe 

Omniscience was Omniscient still, e'en when 

It fashioned woman ; so in reverence hold 

His every gift a dear and sacred trust, 

And seek in love and gratitude to know 

How we may best employ it to perfect 

His purpose in us. 

Since gracious lines and curves 
And tender tints, that rest and satisfy 
The heart's dumb ache for beauty, are no less 
His holy handiwork when they enshrine 
A human soul, than when they're chaliced round 
The lily's censer, we esteem it part 
Of perfect service to keep beautiful 
And pure, his temple wherein for the day 
We call a life, at least, we're dopmed to worship. — 
Nay — not doomed, — ^permitted rather, for 'tis fair 
And good to dwell in, — full of music too, — 
Save we ourselves wake discord in its echoes. 

We must be clothed, and reasons practical 
And very far removed from sentiment 
Or thoughts fanatic, constrained us to adopt 

31 



Some quite distinctive dress. First it protects; 

Next simplifies our needs, and sets us free 

From fashion's thrall ; and last, but far from least 

Of such advantages as daily use 

Confirms for this soft gray, we find it rests 

The jaded nerves whose need necessitates 

Employ of many an art to soothe and strengthen." 

"And forcibly indeed can / attest 

The excellence in practice of that last 

Consideration. But greatly do I grudge 

This interruption and sincerely hope 

You will continue. Somehow you have roused 

An interest in my mind more eager and intense 

Than words can evidence. But I do not mean 

To question deeper than my slender claim 

To special favor warrants ; and the least 

Your inclination moves you to disclose 

Shall quite suffice. Still if the privilege 

Extended me permits it, I would like 

To venture this one question: — What consists 

Or constitutes the body corporate 

Of this alluring dream of sisterhood 

That scarcely yet seems more than dream to me? 

Is it an order fixed and limited 

By local habitation and a name? 

Strange as it seems no doubt, I'm not aware 
I ever heard till now of its existence. 

32 



still I confess that scarce another mind 
Of passable attainments, harbors less 
Of accurate information which relates 
To recluse lives and orders, than my own. 

When first I saw you, in the indolence 
Of mental weariness I scarcely thought 
Of you at all ; but rested in the warmth 
Your presence shed much as the leafless stem 
Rests in the subtile aura of the spring. 

Some vague association lingering 
Behind descriptions I had sometime read — 
But quite forgotten — of the good gray nuns. 
Sufficed to set at rest such flickerings 
Of curious interest concerning where 
To place you, as I doubt not must have crossed 
My languid mind; and your identity 
Once settled for me, nothing subsequent 
Chanced to disturb it." 

"And far indeed from an z^ncompliment 
Was your mistaken inference," she rejoined 
With the rare smile lighting her countenance, 
" For all the virtues of that sisterhood 
I do revere and humbly emulate. 
I doubt me tho' if those same blessed saints 
Were equally self-gratulate to know 

33 



That such a hopeless heretic had passed 
As haihng from their cloister. Still perhaps, 
On second thought, their very life would lead 
To juster comprehension of the faith 
And motive of our order than we win 
From many a liberal (?) worldling. 

But let me not neglect your pertinent 
And no-wise ill-timed question: — which in view 
Of the pure sentiments that prompted it 
I'm more than pleased to answer, and no fear 
That any others you may wish to ask 
Can be inapt or anything but welcome. 

A habitation and a name as well 
We do possess; but still are over young 
As an established order to have earned 
Such marked distinction as would make us known 
Save to a kindred few. And since we find 
Seclusion most essential to sure growth 
We leave for those who value it such fame 
As readily accrues to whoso seeketh. 

The title that we bear commemorates 
That royal woman and ill-fated queen 
Whose wrongs bear shameful witness to the codes 
That stood for manliness in ancient Persia. 

34 



Hail, noble queen ! Queen always, tho' discrowned 
And broken-hearted. Honor to thy name 
Who bravely bore the censure of thy lord. 
And such humiliation as those cold, 
Despotic, scheming diplomats devised 
To heap upon thee, rather than concede 
Obedience where discourteous command 
Proved kingly grace and manly reverence lacking ! 

Peerless thou art forever in thy lone 
And lofty courage. First who dared obey 
Thine own unerring instincts, and thy pure 
All-womanly perception of the right, 
Tho' weighed against thy kingdom. Thou didst win 
A mightier than those despots took from thee, 
And hast bequeathed it to thy royal daughters ! 
Grief is their portion: suffering and loss 
Too oft befall them : yet no precious pearl 
Of their inheritance shall ever go 
To purchase ease, nor regal circumstance, — 
Nor even thrones, — still are they always royal. 

You have divined our title, and I now 
Will tell you where but little while ago 
We fixed our dwelling-place, — our "Vashti's Home." 
Ay, verily a home ! For there we rest 
And work and grow by giving our heart's best 
Each unto all in ready helpfulness. 

35 



For so in little deeds and thoughts of love, 
In generous comprehension, — in the full 
Ungrudging recognition of the needs 
And claims of others, — does the spirit find 
Its sweetest source of nurture for the life 
That lifts and broadens into symmetry 
And perfect grace and fragrant blossoming. 

Ah ! how I wish that I might picture you 
That sunny home ! — the home of purity 
And peace and happiness that every good, 
Sweet, loving woman longs for! 

Do you know 
That dear, enchanted lake that bears the name 
Of old world music ; resting like a babe 
In fairy cradle, shyly smiling back 
In blue-eyed wonder into smiling skies 
That bend so low above it where it lies 
Close-guarded by the soft Wisconsin hills? 

Ah ! you do know it ! then no need to say 
The spot for our " Heimgarten " scarce could be 
More fitly chosen. 

The interest that I see 
Depicted in your face must later plead 
My strong excuse for offering what may seem 
A somewhat egotistical account 
Of how this home of ours came into being. 

36 



The focal germ round which have since a»ccrued 
Such kindred germs as faith and energy 
Have fostered into most surprising growth, 
Received its first real ray of quickening life 
From the rare friend whose well-tried sympathy 
Rings always true, and whose wise-heartedness, 
In many of my life's emergencies, 
Has proved so safe a guide and sure dependence. 

Look not such wide surprise. However strong 
A woman's spirit may be, still her heart 
Must find some genial, firm-based human rock 
Less plastic than itself to rest upon. 
If her fine soul is not to free itself 
For kindlier spheres ere yet it has attained 
Full growth and ripeness in the earth garden. 

'Tis fineness and not weakness, that unfits 
The fibre feminine for steady, long. 
Persistent and successful buffeting 
With the fierce winds of adverse circumstance 
In cold unsheltered places. And if God 
Had not seen fit to fashion in these times, 
One man of royal instincts, — nobly true 
And chivalrous of heart to comprehend 
The best in womanhood ; — and given him 
A steady brain and strong and helpful hand. 
And kept him pure to speak His message thro', — 

37 



I would not now, my friend, be here with you 
To bear glad witness to the miracle. 

One day — the only one my memory marks 
From a long file of days that wretchedness 
Had flattened to a dead monotony, — 
He came, as was his custom at that hour. 
And looking with that searching glance of his 
Into my eyes and holding my weak hand, 
He said, with emphasis that served to fix 
My languid interest — too inclined to roam 
From the dull theme of oft-recounted symptoms,- 

' My friend, you're dying of a slow disease 
That only women die of. A crisis grave — 
Perhaps fatal even — is nearing fast; 
But while I warn you, I must also say 
That we have left untried one hopeful means 
By which this dread disease may yet be baffled.' 

He took swift note of my unspoken question, 
And then made haste to parry it unanswered. 

' No, never mind the name. A name, you know, 
Is like a winged seed that sows itself. 
To grow in time a hundred other seeds 
Till soon we have a harvest — sometimes good, — 
More often evil, for ill things you know 
Are somehow more prolific than the good, — 



If haply shorter-lived. We'll talk of how 
To fight this ill of yours by strategy ; 
Then you shall name it in an epitaph 
Some day when you are happy.' 

' Talk not to me,' I cried, ' of happiness! 
You do not know how cruelly that word 
May sometimes torture!' And then that he had 

meant 
Should happen, happened; for the poor, pent heart 
So sorely over-charged with the full weight 
Of tears that would not flow, had found relief. 

He did not try to stay that hurrying flood 
Of hot but healing tears, but let me weep 
Till nature could no more. Then presently, — 
With that peculiar gentleness that marks 
His simplest word or gesture,-^— clasped the hand 
That still was trembling from the storm, and said : — 

' These tears will save you : if not quite the cure 
I had in mind, still maybe 'tis as well 
That nature should forestall me. Now I mean 
To forestall nature.' Then his smile grew grave : — 
' Can you not give that tired heart of yours 
Relief another way, and tell me what 
Is slowly breaking it ? ' 

E'en to this day 
I know not how it came that all that load 

39 



Of hard, humiliant sorrow I had meant 
To keep forever sealed within my lips, 
Had slip't its bounds and passed them. But I know- 
That more than half its dull distracting weight 
Went with my friend when easier duties came 
To call him from my side that summer day. 

You know the skill that many a stricken mind, 
Restored and whole, has cause to bless him for; 
And I'll not weary you with long account 
Of how he turned my thoughts by slow degrees 
Away from hurtful grooves, and tactfully 
Set all the misery-choked, discouraged springs 
Of sympathy again to healthful flowing. 

One day his theme would be some dread disease 
That highest human skill seemed powerless 
To more than palliate; — the next perhaps 
He'd paint some scene of wretched suffering 
That need not be if but the practical 
And simple means to supplement his work 
Were at command. Here mayhap I must share 
Some bitter sorrow that the fresh-turned sod 
Must shortly cover: — there, far sadder woe 
Appealed, where ached a heart full poignantly 
For that no grave would hide its peaceless dead. 

He drew me thus, unwittingly to myself, 
40 



Up by his side, where, in the searching light 

Of actual fact, these painful pictures lay 

Unsoftened by such shadows as my own 

Dark sorrow might at closer view have lent them. 

And such his generous tact, my threatening reefs 

Were safely rounded ere I grew aware 

What priceless lessons in the blessed art 

Of tender helpfulness and pitying love, 

And sympathy, that leads to self-forgetting, 

He in his wisdom had been teaching me. 

Thro' simple gratitude I first was moved 
To study how I best could complement 
His altruistic labors: then it fell. 
As if in natural order, that ere long 
He scarcely thought to question if in straits 
He might rely on me for help and counsel. 
'Twas thus, one day when he had sought my aid 
In solving what for him had so far proved 
A baffling human problem, — while we still 
Were vainly puzzling over it, — it chanced 
That half in jest, the slender blade of thought 
That afterward attained such magnitude 
Sprang up between us. 

He had grown distraught 
And paced my study floor with nervous strides, 
Unceasing back and forth, distractingly, 

41 



Until by my own nervousness compelled 
To break his absent mood, I smiling said 

' Why this dissatisfaction, might I ask? 
Is it because the famed efficiency 
Of woman's intuition put to test, 
Has this time proved an ignominious failure? 

I know this morning's work has poorly served 
To raise your man's respect for what we claim 
As our peculiar feminine distinction. 
But hold your judgment, friend ; give me the night 
To weigh this problem — which you can but grant 
Is very far from simple, — and by this 
To-morrow, I can safely promise you 
Your confidence restored in woman's wit.' 

My banter served its purpose, for at last 
He ceased his restless walk, regarding me 
A moment, still abstracted, ere he spoke: — 

' I plead not guilty to the ungallant 
Reflections your most hastily deduced 
Conclusions would impute, — 'though I must own 
The justice of your primal observation. 
The woman's intuition cannot fail 
Where once you have engaged the woman heart ; 
And I've no apprehensions on the score 
Of how you mean to finally dispose 
Of my hard problem. What has caused in me 

42 



The mood you rightly named " dissatisfaction," 
Nothing concerns your capability 
Or will have to serve my needy proteges, 
But touches on a far more vital question. 

Your eyes are more than clear, your judgment sure, 
Wherever other lives' necessities 
Make dumb appeal: then wherefore should you be 
So more than blind, or else indifferent. 
To what your own starved nature mutely prays for? 

I know what you would say ; — you're making fair 
And steady progress toward your normal health; 
But that does not content me. What I want 
For you is nurture, sunshine, air and space, 
Such as your being urgently demands. 
For growth and free expansion. — You need a home.' 

' A home.'* ' I said, perplexed, for where we talked, 
'Mid spacious walls and soft accessories 
To ease and busy leisure, I was sure 
He knew me rightful mistress. 

' Yes, a home. 
He quietly repeated. ' Give the word 
Its fullest weight of Anglo-Saxon meaning. 
A home is not what merely shelters us. 
Or lends such prestige as the social world 
Accords to what helps build it. Home is where 
The heart is nourished, cultured, exercised 

43 



To the full measure and the use of all 

Its latent powers and possibilities, 

And strengthened for true service in the world. 

So rich a womanhood as yours is starved, 
Repressed and warped from its S3rmmetrical 
And full unfoldment, when it fails that close 
And constant interchange of sympathy, — 
That happy exercise of heart and brain 
In tenderness and care for weaker things — 
That constitutes the spirit of a home. 
I am dissatisfied because for lack 
Of right environment, one glorious type 
Of strong, complete and rounded womanhood 
That might be, is not.' 

' Indeed, you greatly over- 
estimate 
My meagre store of possibilities ! ' 
I answered calmly and with some reserve; 
For this implied forgetting on his part 
Of what so hard and bitter fate enforced 
My present lonely life, had wounded me. 
And then my calmness suddenly gave place 
To warm, indignant protest: — 

' Do you then, 
In common with the most of men, believe 
That that most arduous of human tasks: 
That loftiest and holiest of all aims : 

44 



\ 



The founding on firm ground, the building sure: 

The watching, warding, keeping undefiled. 

Wholesome and holy, home and all the word 

Originally stood for: — filling it 

With life and light and music, made of joy 

And peace and purity, — you think 

Such work as this belongs alone to woman? 

If the best that she by single effort. 

Can achieve, when freed from clog or hindrance, 

Seems to you so far from perfect, what of that 

Most wretched semblance that so often stands 

For home when haps it that the fateful hand. 

In honor pledged to aid and further her 

In all her noblest aims and purposes, 

Proves wantonly destructive, or at best 

A hopeless drag to all her energies? 

A home should be, I grant you, all the best 
That poet pen can picture or suggest. 
But never on life's canvas shall we see 
Such picture realized until in man 
Is bom the knowledge and the will to do 
His honest, faithful part. — Is horn! Ay, there 
We have the key to man's regeneration ! 
She who weaves from her own subtile fibre, 
Marvellously, in ways she wots not of. 
The living calyx where a soul is caught 
And safely cradled; she whose sacred trust 

45 



None but the whitest angels up in heaven 

Dare of themselves assume, — the fashioning 

Of tender things that ever-more must bear. 

For beauty or for blemish, every least 

And lightest impress of the modeler's hand, — 

Whether it be the careful master-stroke 

Or ignorant handling, — she it is who first 

Must be set free, uplifted, purified; 

Made strong with courage, wise and nobly fit 

To wear her priceless crown of motherhood. 

Before the world can look for better men.' 

' All true,' assented he, ' but will you stop 
Where thousands have, content to recognize 
A vital truth, nor seek expedients 
To make it practical? You who perceive 
So far so clearly, can you not descry 
Some means to compass what so ardently 
Your reverent spirit prays to see accomplished? 
Admit that man's regeneration waits 
On woman's spiritual emancipation, still 
The question of a better race of men 
Remains in status quo. Man's moral plane 
Is not so high as woman's, therefore how 
Shall he help her to rise? The only means 
To uplift woman-kind 'twould seem inheres 
In womanhood itself; nor can I see 

46 



How man can help her, — save perhaps he lends 
His strength as fulcrum to her moral lever. — 
Indeed it rather seems to me that man 
For ages past, has so contributed 
His powers to further feminine ambitions. 
How more could he advantage her? In fact, 
What is it that seditious woman needs 
Or waits for to effect her own redemption? ' 

His final query, partly quizzical 
And partly earnest, piqued my woman's pride 
To quick retort. 

' The woman's need,' I said, 
* Is man's need also, tho' her wants, I grant. 
Are mainly different and something less 
Irrational — e'en tho' savants do see fit 
To sit in judgment on her strong demands 
For ' higher education ' and the right 
To free employment of her faculties 
Along self -chosen lines. I feel no call 
To argue in behalf of ' Woman's Cause,' 
And only speak for all humanity 
When moved to plead for any information ; — 
For man and woman make two equal halves 
To be redeemed as one or lost divided. — 
But whether the human race shall gain or lose 
Thro' special training and unfettered use 

47 



Of woman's intellect, I hold it to be 

A question that should shame a thinking age 

To speechful silence. 

The one doubtful point 
WTiich well may agitate the wisest heads 
Of these enlightened times, is whether yet 
The truest means to healthful discipline 
And culture of the ' genius humanus ' 
Of either sex, has been exemplified 
Or e'en discovered. Humanity, poor waif, 
Scarce conscious what it misses, stands forlorn 
At Wisdom's gate and waits with patient eyes 
For its true Alma Mater to come by 
And pity its neglected orphanage.' 

Our friend here took occasion to defend 
Our splendid halls of learning, pointing out 
The excellence of their methods; and, alert 
In all his masculine regard and jealousy 
For settled institutions, bade me state 
Where I could point improvement, ' ere I swept 
Our educational systems thus aside 
With all a woman's fine inconsequence.' 

And thus full fairly challenged, what could I 
But summon all my wits to prove him wrong 
In thinking me a mere iconoclast.'^ 
But hardly less than he was I surprised 

48 



At what Utopian vision sprang to life 
And vivid outline 'neath the actinic warmth 
Of my impulsive words. Never before 
Had my vague heresies resolved themselves 
To well-defined objections; nor till now, 
My cherished dreams of some far nobler plan 
Of education than the world yet knew 
Found solid ground for near anticipation. 

At first with genial tolerance, tinged perhaps 
With curiosity our friend gave ear 
To my swift flow of speech; but presently 
His look of half-amusement changed to keen, 
Attentive interest, till, before I reached 
The climax of my optimistic dreaming, 
His interest grew and quickened into warm, 
Enthusiastic sympathy that fired 
My final utterance, and lent the thrill 
And eerie fatefulness of prophecy. 

' That great wave,' I concluded, ' preordained 
To give the world its next grand impetus 
Millenialward, needs all the conscious strength 
The race can garner up and concentrate 
To meet its swift incoming and to launch 
In safety all our priceless hopes upon it. 
Only such wisdom as the heart distils 

49 



From purity and love can generate 
This needed strength ; and how to re-create 
The human heart and teach it to perform 
Its holy office, seems to me the one 
Divinely hallowed task that worthily 
Awaits some fervent soul's full consecration.' 

His eyes shone mistily : — * Who knows,' he said, 
' But you yourself are destined to fulfill 
That Heaven-appointed mission? ' Then he rose 
And clasped my hand and left me gravely thoughtful. 

When God maps any work for us, I'm sure 
He also maps the means to its completion; 
And ere I had admitted to my mind 
As fairly feasible, our friend's suggestion, 
He brought me plans so plainly practical 
And well thought out, that I could nothing less 
Than pledge him my sincere cooperation: — 
Tho' gravely doubting still the fittingness 
Of that unique responsibility 
His confidence so readily assigned me. 

An enterprise resolved upon, with some 
Is half accomplished, and ere many months 
Had passed, our thought had taken partial shape 
In solid stone and marble. A lustrum now 

50 



Has watched the fair unfolding of that dream 
That all my life had haunted ; and the deep 
Unselfish satisfaction so far reaped 
Were worth another life's probationship 
Sacrific even as Heaven required of me." 

Strong as my interest was, the gentle hush 
Upon her face constrained me to repress 
My eager wish for more, till the sweet smile 
Invited me to speak; then clamorously 
A score of questions each claimed precedence. 
She answering, thus resumed : — " I hardly know 
What first suggested ' Vashti's ' as the name 
Most fitting for our Home ; but once it found 
Consideration with us, nothing else 
Would seem admissible. Our aim in part 
You see, was evolution of the best 
And highest qualities of womanhood. 
In such environment as would afford 
Room for their free employment in some cause 
Whose issue should requite love's labor vested. 
And such a cause we knew our final aim 
Indubitably furnished; for the hope 
Of speeding, e'er so slightly, toward the goal 
Of perfectness, one human entity. 
Seemed work that even angels might rejoice 
To have assigned them. 

51 



Right environment 
And right association we beHeved 
The two essential principles involved 
In youthful education: and a child 
Could not, we argued, constantly respire 
The pure and vital atmosphere we meant 
Our home should insulate, except to store 
That spiritual elixir which insures 
To good inheritance development 
Harmonious and full. The woman meant 
By Heaven's most plain intention to create 
And keep such atmosphere, is never found 
Of natural choice, outside the sheltering arms 
Of love and home. 'Tis such and only such — 
As fate has stranded and left desolate, 
Who rightly can esteem a home like ours, 
Or bring to it its grand desiderata. 
These are the Vashti's, sorrow-taught, but brave, 
Who've walked uprightly their appointed ways 
Thro' bitterness and trial, gaining thus 
The tender heart, the sweet humility, 
The patience and the dignity of soul. 
That mark them worthy of their chastening. 

We do not look for such as these where throng 
Competitors for privilege to race 
Beside the strong, hard-driven sons of Adam. 

The genius-of-the-world's most tempting lure 
52 



To man's ambition, looks the veriest toy 
To what the full-orbed woman cherisheth 
Within her heart of hearts as worth achievement. 

Bereft of home and all the dear delights 
Of loving ministration ; shorn of all 
Her heart had offered worship to: deprived 
Of such sweet, natural means of growth and 

grace 
As motherhood, love-heralded, affords her, 
Brave, large-souled, tender Vashti ! What can she 
But let her hungry heart and eager brain 
Consume themselves, except for her to found 
Some kingdom worthy of her royal sceptre? 

Our home is such a kingdom ; and the proud, 
Sincere devotedness and reverence 
Of her most loyal subjects, prove how wise 
And just, and love-inspiring is her reign. 

Her subjects? You should see them! Nobly- 
poised, 
Sweet, gracious women, gentle girls, and rare, 
Exotic types of small humanity 
That left unhomed, are welcomed to our care. 

No one can buy the right to dwell with us. 
But those we know possessed in large degree 

53 



Of woman's finest gifts, and also freed 
By circumstance from all the natural ties 
That love and duty make so sweetly binding, — 
Such we seek out and ask to hide with us ; — 
At first, a while as guest, the better thus 
To judge if they can pledge the sisterhood 
Full fealty and support. And this explains 
How came our friend to ask of me, — instead 
Of one more versed in strict pathology, — 
To watch beside you while he strove to lead 
You safely past the Valley of the Shadow." 

My cheek flushed warm as suddenly I sensed 
The gaping gulf between the buoyant health 
That thrilled me now, and those numb, stricken days 
That found me Soeur Marie. And all my heart 
Throbbed in the grateful hands that silent reached 
To clasp the two that in such love had served me. 

She was the first to speak, and all the warm, 
Soft tenderness of her sweet womanhood 
Caressed me in her voice: 

" Dear, will you come 
While yet the witchery of June is round it, 
And prove if too alluringly my love 
Has sketched the picture of our happy Rest? 
I own to something selfish in the wish 

54 



That you should learn to love us: for to win 
Your final full allegiance could but bring 
Great joy to me as well as gain to Vashti's. 

But ev'n all this apart I greatly wish 
For your own sake that you should breathe awhile 
The subtile air of that small paradise. — 
So sure am I that such environment 
Will soon discover what vast areas lie 
Still fallow in your nature, — ay, unguessed 
By your blind self -distrust." 

The tender smile, 
So full of loving confidence, yet failed 
To exorcise that watchful demon, doubt. 
That ever kept his silent pace beside me. 

•' But surely," I protested, " you have seen 
Ere this, how hopelessly my attributes 
Fall short of your high standard. 
Those eyes of yours, I know but seldom read 
Amiss in what they estimate but now. 
Believe me, your kind heart has glamoured them." 

She shook her head and smiled convincingly. 
But I went on : " If sorrow sought me out, 
'Twas not my worthiness attracted it. 
And if 'per contra. Providence saw fit 
To send it as a means of discipline. 
Most sadly it miscarried of its purpose. 

55 



In no way am I better. Such small store 
Of faith and goodness as perhaps I might 
Have once laid claim to, now is worse than nil. 

Not only faith in any power that guides 
Events with justice and intelligence 
Is wholly shattered, — that I might endure 
In Stoic fashion, — but capacity 
To love my fellow-creatures : — hope, desire 
Or will to aid them : — ev'n the selfish wish 
To free my wretched self from wretchedness, 
Seems paralyzed within me. You perceive 
I am no Vashti, — one who ' passing thro ' 
The Valley of Bacca maketh it a well.' 

Your sisterhood allures me with its sweet, 
Enticing promise of secluded rest; 
But while its motives much commend themselves 
For beauty and for ethics, still I feel 
No wish to lend them personal devotion. 

With this keen consciousness of how remote 
Is my real character from your conception — 
How could I silently appropriate 
Your flattering estimation; or accept 
The hospitality your generous heart 
So graciously extends to an ideal? 

If, after this confession, you can still 
Accord to me unchanged your trust and friend- 
ship, 

56 



Then gratefully indeed do I consent 
To be your guest at Vashti's." 

No least shade 
Of doubt or disappointment crossed her brow 
Or darkened in her eyes. And her reply 
Disclosed how utterly my words had failed 
To change or move her: — 

" Sometimes it is given 
To one whom love makes worthy of the trust, 
To read the record of a kindred spirit, — 
Its past and future, clearly as we read 
The sky at evening. Do not we discern 
From sunset colors, whispering winds, and vague 
Swift signs, elusive to the slow-winged senses, 
The kind of day that has been, and what kind 
Must of a surety follow? Not all days 
Thus openly record themselves, nor yet 
May every soul be read unerringly 
By most prophetic vision. Only when 
The ties of love and loyalty have bound 
For cycles long two kindred souls together, 
Can either give the ancient countersign 
With freedom not to fail of recognition. 
We are not strangers, even tho' this world 
Can date our meeting from but yesterday. 
/ know my friend^ and much more truly than 
She knows herself ; and once more in the name 

57 



Of that dear knowledge, I entreat of you 
To let her be my guest, and nothing state 
Henceforth to me that may discredit her." 

What could I say? Beneath the playfulness 
Of her last chiding words, I would but feel 
The deep sincerity to which my heart 
Instinctively responded; tho' in vain 
My reason groped for relevance in much 
The mystic tenor of her speech imported. 
• •••••••• 

A sheet of living sapphire, greenly girt 
By velvet hills, and densely broidered in 
With rare and variegated silken richness: 
Rough-quarried granite, and wrought marble, 

grouped 
And arched and domed and columned till they sang 
In symphony together, gleaming soft 
Thro' gray and green and umber, — tracery wrought 
By cunning forest-fingers taught of June 
A naiad flashing by in haste to hide 
Her shimmering whiteness in the shielding waters; 
And over all the sky — the soft June sky, — 
Flecked with the filmy forms of mist-born spirits. 

" A dream," I thought, " a dream within a dream." 
For all this witchery of loveliness 

58 



Lay softly mirrored in the sleeping lake. 
White, classic-draped, slow-moving goddesses, 
Gay groups of children, slender, sylph-like girls, 
And cherub-featured infants, cooing soft 
To dove-eyed mother-faces, gave the scene 
Unfolded to my unprepared vision, 
A touch of Arcady, and thrilled a low, 
Long dormant chord of youthful visioning 
Half happiness, half dimly memoried pain. 
O fair sequestered nook ! Dear Home ! 

Sweet Home ! 
The blessed peace that broodeth over thee 
Lulled all my soul to rest ; and banishing 
Its cumulous cloud of sorrows, set it free 
To rise to that pure world whose living light 
Thy silent teachings pointed. Sheltering Home! 
When I forget the hallowed mother-touch 
That soothed my infant griefs: when from my heart 
Time's hand obliterates that mother's smile: 
Then shall grow dim the blessed memory 
Of days that saw thy soft, protecting wings 
Infold my spirit while thy love transformed it! 

A fortnight I had said when Soeur Marie 
First begged the stipulated week's extension ; 
But summer's prime was past and winged seers 
Insistent shrilled of doom to drowsy August 

59 



Before my heart could bring itself to heed 
Claims urgently demanding my departure. 

And ah, those fair, enchanted, fleeting weeks 
Purloined from puissant care ! How shall I tell 
What vast eternal gain their passing wrought 
To me of life's imperishable riches? 

The interested, free, unhurrying 
Activity around ; the restful air 
Of large unfettered leisure to pursue 
The all-delighted aim of happy living, 
While failing not to work upon my heart 
Its subtle soothing spell no less provoked 
My critic mind to wonder. " How," I thought, 
" Can high refinement and broad culture rest 
Thus satisfied in what alone concerns 
This small, detached and introverted world.? 
Is intellect so all-conformable 
That once assimilating greatness, still 
Its healthy vigor finds the minimum 
Of puerile interests not the less sufficing? " 

O conceit of knowledge uniformed 
Of that pure wisdom that doth ever wear 
The garb of foolishness to worldly vision ! 

In after days when clearer insight dawned 
And understanding deepened, thoughts like these 

60 



i 



Put all my soul to blush ; for he who forms 
With equal care the tiniest lichen-cup 
Or farthest world of fast-revolving light, 
No least thing nameth small, and nothing great. 

An honored guest, yet unrestrained and free 
As any habitue, I came and went, 
Among the busy, happy household bees, 
As fancy wafted me or interest led ; 
And from the calm-faced, clear-eyed Gretchen,- 

capped 
And snowy aproned — to the slender girl 
Whose every motion spoke her gentle breeding, 
I marked no mood but glad contentedness 
And eager drinking like a growing flower 
Of life's pure light and sweetness. 

No one there 
Among those gracious women seemed to hold 
Superior place nor yet assumed the air 
Or accent of instructor ; nor could I 
Detect authority or servileness 
In any tone or gesture. All appeared 
As on an equal footing, — ^bound by laws 
Of courtesy and kindness each to serve 
The other, each unobtrusively alert 
To give her best, and tactfully accord 
Room to the least another's heart would proffer. 

61 



" Freedom," had answered Soeur Marie, when I 
Confessed the key to this fine harmony 
An undiscovered secret ; " no one here 
Claims of another e'en the slightest thing 
As due by right. From our Home lexicon 
Two jaded terms are watchfully excluded; — 
' Duty ' and ' obligation,' and in their stead 
We write the one word 'love.' " 

"And do you find 
Love all that's needed for the discipline 
And government of childhood? " I inquired 
With smiling skepticism. 

"All " she said, 
In that low, even tone that never failed 
To carry full conviction ; and my close 
And curious after-observation proved 
How justly founded was her affirmation. 

Few were the hours of those soft summer days 
That even Vashti's classic halls could lure us. 
For dark indeed must be Olympus' frown 
To drive such nature-worshippers as we 
To flee the temple of their trusted goddess. 

Each morning found us gathering 'neath the 
trees 
In eager groups for long delightful talks 
With Soeur Marie ; for never day but brought 

62 



Some question baffling in its subtleties 
To our less penetrant and lucid minds, 
Yet ever simple to her pure heart-wisdom. 

For even here, among these many rare 
And nobly-dowered spirits, Soeur Marie 
Still shone apart with luculent, serene, 
Unborrowed lustre, like a lonely star. 
And all adored the sweet humility 
And gentle grace that lent such genialness 
To her dear presence, for all recognized 
The rarity of soul that less of love 
Had left too fine and cold for friendship's uses. 

No principle nor problem seemed to be 
Too deep for her fine sympathy to fathom; 
And watching her in this environment, 
I more and more perceived how hitherto 
I had but glimpsed her nature's varied richness. 

With no less pleasure than the rest I drank 
Her fresh extempore wisdom, marvelling 
At its so fine adaption to the needs 
Of various minds and moods. But best was I 
Content when happened it that all the rest 
Found interests elsewhere ; then my Sceur Marie 
And I would seek a small, steep-winding path,- 
Unfrequented by others thro' the sweet 

63 



And courteous tact that marked the preference, 
Tho' unexpressed, and held our favorite way 
As sacred to that freer conference 
Our quiet strolls permitted. — In and out 
Thro' brush and forest-tangle, up and up 
By rock and stream it wound, our little path, 
To cease abruptly where a single pine 
Had kept for decades long its lonely vigils. 

Here, while a sweet, incessant, murmuring song 
Timed to the beat of waves far down below us, 
Charmed us to silent sympathy or moved 
To unreserved speech, I sometimes framed — 
And she as simply answered — questions which 
Self-consciousness might otherwhere have hindered. 

The life at Vashti's more and more appealed 
To that mercurial imagination 
Which was my large but doubtful heritage ; 
And judgment, always sternly vigilant 
To guard against a final full surrender, 
Oft prompted me to cynic-utterance 
Or adverse criticism; — all of which 
My friend received with patient courtesy 
And sweet forbearance. Plainly she was sure 
The Home itself would answer finally 
The last of my objections. Always tho'. 
With gracious readiness would she explain 

64i 



Whatever point I chanced to commentate; — 
Regardless if I praised or deprecated. 

Thus when I asked if Vashti's was the type 
Predestined, in her mind, to supersede 
The home as founded on old-fashioned lines. 
She answered: — 

" No. We cannot hope to make 
This home quite everything a true home should be. 
The most our rosiest optimism holds 
As possible for one short life's achievement 
Is peaceful, sunny, happy garden spot 
Where every latent home-creative germ 
May be supremely cultured and increased 
For future propagation. What if some 
Be lost or prove unfruitful? — Nature saves 
Not all she travaileth for; — and some good seeds 
Are destined surely to disseminate 
And grow and bloom to beauty and to sweetness. 

And then shall come our great and sure reward ; 
For what tho' fate hath willed that we shall leave 
Our field of labor ere its full fruition? 
No heaven can hold for us such perfectness 
But that the tiniest true love-light that shines 
On earth for our increasing, shall enhance 
That heaven's transcendent glory. Such our faith- 
That living force that forms from future hopes 

65 



The present blessing, — ever saving us 
From over-anxiousness and fretting fear 
For works resultant." 

Here she touched a key 
To which no conscious chord in me responded. 
With aim to make digression and insure 
Continuance of her subject, I essayed 
This venture, somewhat curious of the issue: — 

^ " While such a life as this must satisfy 
Much in the many-sided woman-heart 
That home too commonly ignores or stifles, 
Does it provide for what is after all 
The paramount essential of her nature? 
For conjure as we may with natural laws, 
Their stem immutability will force 
Their final recognition ; and the love, 
Supreme and single in its potency 
To bind and weld in one, two human hearts, — 
For purposes that we devoutly trust 
Are wise in measure of their mystery, — 
Is not that love the very ultimate 
Of human nature's fundamental laws? 
And if it be, can any mode of life 
By which that law is utterly subverted, 
Conduce to that complete development 
Which seems the aim at Vashti's? I, perchance, 

66 



Some point have lost or misinterpreted; 
But my impression is that Vashti finds 
No place in her curriculum for marriage." 

"And partly you are right," she answered me, 
" For formal marriage as the world defines it 
We hold in slight esteem. Idealists 
Cannot indulge in dreams that travesty 
Their world of truth and beauty. Dreamers find 
A path to Wisdom, straight and plain, but all 
Unknown to him whose only guide is reason : 
And e'en for him who dreams, the little path 
Loseth itself straightway if he give ear 
To any voice but Truth's ; and truth disowns 
The tottering structure that the world calls ' m 
riage.' 

Yet mark me well, for marriage true and real,- 
That heaven-ordained h^-llowed right that ope's 
The very gate of Heaven to whom it blesseth, — 
Ah! that we pray may come, and speedily, 
To every soul that Love hath sanctified 
To reverently receive its sacred message. 

You have observed us keenly and must know 
Such women as compose our sisterhood 
Could not accept a fraction while the whole 

67 



Of human happiness were gainable. 
Nor are they such as missing Hfe's most dear 
And natural joys, feed disappointed hearts 
On sapless sophistry that makes of love 
A false, delusive dream of bitter ending. 
With all the ardor loving children bring 
To task assigned by teacher they adore. 
We search that vast, exhaustless scroll — the word- 
Direct, divine and simple, straight from God — 
Enrolled for us between the leaves of Nature. 
No line is left obscure; nor does it fail 
To answer, somewhere, life's most intricate 
And subtle problems, to the full content 
Of most exacting mind. And this is how 
We render its plain text concerning marriage; 

We would depend. It is the woman's right 
To be ensphered, protected, pioneered 
By one more fit than she, more free and strong 
To map her world; foresee its limits; clear 
The large obstructions from her path, that she 
^lay walk in safety and may dwell secure. 
For only in such freedom as the man. 
By virtue of his manhood may insure 
To woman, can her nature so unfold 
Its boundless sweetness and its pristine grace 
That once again this desert wilderness 

68 



Of care-encankered life shall change and bloom 
Like Paradise of old for her and him. 

Man sees but dimly that great role that he 
By nature is assigned to fill ; and she, 
The woman, more acute to feel, but still 
Less broad of vision e'en than he, and less 
Inclined to careful tracing from effect to cause, 
Resents conditions that have circumscribed 
And warped her being: strives to break the bounds 
That man has set her — Hmiting himself; 
And striving seeks to make that larger world 
She longs for — thus usurping that dear right 
Of man to serve her. 

'Tis not woman's fault 
She thus mistakes; nor yet is man to blame 
Tliat he discovers not at once wherein 
He so has failed to fill her soul's great need. 

'Tis woman always who must point the way 
To larger life. More quick to feel than man, 
And more inclined to question what she feels, 
'Tis she who first grows restless when the world 
They both have made has served its full intent 
And holds no further room for exercise 
Of such increase of wisdom, power and strength 
As both have therein gained. It is from her 
The first command of aspiration sounds. 

69 



" Move on " she says ; but ipan is slow to heed 

Because for longer is his soul content 

With what is well ; likewise because more clear 

To him, stand out the obstacles that bar 

The way to further progress. He delays, 

And if too long he hesitates and doubts, 

The woman cannot choose, for that great force 

That moves upon her, but forestall his right 

And act, howe'er mistakenly it be. 

'Tis failure that most often points the way 
To full success ; and woman when she strives 
To build that great, free, sun-lit, song-filled world 
Her soul has glimpsed from some far distant 

sphere. 
Points out unconsciously by those mistakes 
She cannot see, the weakness in herself 
And in her structure. Also in so far 
As she succeeds, she proves the meed of skill 
And wisdom she has gathered. Thus the man, 
Intently watching her, is learning fast 
A threefold lesson : first, a deep respect 
For powers she proves herself possessed of; 
Next, the possibility of shaping forth 
The living shadow of her happy dream, 
While through her daring he is quick to see 
How puny were the obstacles he feared; 

70 



And finally, her weakness teaches him 

His glorious strength, and happier lesson still, 

Her need of him ! 

Methinks it cannot be 
So far away, the dawn of that glad day 
When man must wake to that great privilege 
That waits for him, — The building of that world 
That woman longs to beautify and grace. 
When so he wakes, 'twill be to wrest away 
The all too arduous toil from tender hands; 
And she most gratefully will yield to him 
His own true task and take her rightful place 
Close at his side. 

" So then," I said, " 'twould seem 
From all your words imply, that you agree 
But partially with certain zealous minds 
Among our would-be champions who assert 
That no distinction in potential gifts. 
Capacities or tastes or fittingness 
Inherent lies in sex ? " 

Her gentle smile 
Grew bright with mirth — " the strongest vantage 

ground 
We as a sex possess, it seems to me 
Were yielded with that claim. If nature gives 
To her strong sons peculiar attributes 
Essentially their own, to wield and use 

71 



With natural ease which woman at her best 
Can but admire and poorly emulate, 
What shall be said of her distinctive dower 
Of special gifts? All sentiment apart, 
And vain conceit, can honest reverence 
Refuse to grant that woman holds in trust 
As heavenly hostage for humanity, 
Imperial virtues and rare subtle gifts 
That else were sadly lacking to our race? 

Where should we look if not to her for truth, 
And constancy, and patient sacrifice. 
And depth of pure devotion that can lose 
Self in some dearer self's far dearer cause, 
And glory in the loss and count it gain ? 
And what were life but one long night of gloom 
Had Heaven withheld from her one sacred trust,- 
Her power of swift divinement, gift of faith 
That sees beyond the spirit-chilling fact: 
That holds to life despite the yawning grave, 
And fosters in her heart celestial dreams 
Of Love and Love's redemption, — such as man 
Can never comprehend or call his own 
Save thro' his worship of her. 

What man is there 
Full-orbed and free, a triune entity, 
With heart to feel and intellect to weigh, 
And inner eye of spirit to discern, — 



What man so heaven-designed but cherisheth 
Within his heart of hearts this saving gleam 
From the lost star of truth? 'Tis woman leads, 
But man in his proud strength must go before 
To smooth the way ; for so in nature, plain 
The law is writ by hand that cannot err. 

Perish what will of Life's illusions ; sink as may 
In Time's abyss the fragile fairy ships 
We trust our hopes to ; still the winged fleets 
Of the Ideal shall ne'er be wholly wrecked 
Till man forget his fair immortal goal, 
And recognize no more in womanhood 
The star that shines to light his spirit thither. 

The silence deepened round us while the clear 

Prophetic voice vibrated thro' and thro' 

My inmost being till I felt the light 

Of that close-verging world her eloquence 

Had barely missed unveiling to my vision. 

At last I broke the spell : — " Discern you then 
Some sign that heralds this elysium's 
Divinely welcome dawning.? Is there hope, 
However faint, that you and I may see 
Sweet peace and harmony evolve from all 
This dissonance and din that woman's war 
On man's most dear traditions wakes around us ? " 

73 



The sweet expressive smile gave soft rebuke 
To my impatient fervor : — " They who sow 
The seed with faith in spring-time, surely they 
Shall reap the harvest ; what concerns it when 
Or how or in what world the field shall ripen? " 

Again that overtone of forgiveness 
That made me vaguely conscious of remote, 
Strange countries where her spirit walked, familiar, 
But out of touch with mine. With curious sense 
Of jealous loneliness I hastened now 
To exorcise the spell, and draw her thoughts 
Back to our common world. 

She does not know 
That here my memory sets a gleaming stone 
To mark a cherished epoch in our friendship: 
For here it was that first I recognized 
In some small measure, what her friendship meant 
To my starved, empty hfe. And also here 
My soul began to dimly comprehend 
That it must climh if it would hope to keep 
Within the radius of her spirit's shining. 

For souls like hers must seek at intervals 
Their native mountain-tops, or soon the dense 
Miasma of our lower atmosphere. 
Would force them finally from Earth that now — 
Poor in such prototypes — so ill could spare them. 

74 



But not till after-time, when larger light 
And new-born sympathies had tutored me 
In many kinds of wisdom, was this truth 
Borne in upon me. Now, averse to what 
I failed to comprehend in her remoteness, 
I questioned, with intent to bring her back 
To themes of mutual interest. She at once 
Resumed the slackened thread of colloquy: 

" No form of oath nor any least restraint 
Do we impose on our beloved disciples. 
We simply strive to show the wisest course — 
As it appears to us — at any turn 
In any single life-path; nor attempt, 
By arbitrary strictures, to compel 
In one direction all the countless roads 
Of different destinations that converge 
At any single point. Small as it is, 
Our group comprises egos so diverse 
In character and trend, so positive 
In individuation, so defined 
And all-complex that intuition needs 
Must be alert to keep the master-key 
To all the ever-varying combinations. 

We give our heart's most sacred energies 
To help a soul to find the true key-note. 
Caught from the new-bom stars, to which is writ 
Its grand, eternal life-theme. Once this great, 

75 



Heaven-guided work accomplished for a soul, 

Thenceforth we leave it free. For love can aid 

Only by constant shining, and nowise 

By imposition of the freest lines 

Of boundary broad intelligence can trace 

For any other life's periphery. 

We cannot know another's entire need; 
And when we foolishly assume that knowledge 
Our best-intended efforts work but harm. 
This truth must be conceived as the initial step 
In understanding that shall show the way 
To aid unhinderingly our fellow-creatures. 
And we at Vashti's guard most watchfully 
Our speech and thought, lest we in anywise 
Precipitate or curb another's will, 
Judgment or choice; — though of necessity 
Our very atmosphere, in some degree, 
Is potent to restrain or stimulate. 
And here is where the need for watchfulness, 
Fasting and ceaseless prayer is ever urgent. 
To hold that subtle aura that surrounds 
Our spirits always pure and undefiled 
By selfish, sordid thoughts ; to keep it rare 
And vitalized with true celestial fire. 
Breathed from the upper worlds ; to hallow it 
By constant prayer for His inspiring love 
And blessing, that we evermore may bear 

76 



Glad health and hope to weaker souls and spirits. 

And light to gladden dreary, sunless lives, — 

Is not such aim, devotedly pursued. 

Enough to give the days, — ay, and the nights — 

Of faithful souls to unremitting labor? 

But thanks to Him who worketh while we sleep. 

'Tis not our constant diligence that counts 

For spiritual achievement, as the heart's 

Sincere, complete and perfect consecration. 

To sift the heart's desire, and teach the will 
Obedience only to divine command, — 
This is our part, the rest we leave to Him." 

At last my practical, plain-reasoning mind 
Began to glimpse a something tangible 
In her clear-shining, transcendental faith 
That hitherto — with shame do I confess it — 
Had seemed to me a zealot's fantasy, — 
An unsubstantial, visionary dream. 

I hoped she would continue, for desire 
For deeper understanding of her creed 
Was strong within me ; but apparently 
She meant not to resume, and I in doubt 
Of how to frame so unaccustomed thoughts. 
Reverted to the more familiar subject. 

" In this large liberty I plainly see 
Much that befits the free intelligence 

77 



Of reason-ripe, experience-tutored women. 

But what of young, ingenuous, unformed minds, 

With all their crude, tumultuous emotions 

To understand and guide and regulate, 

While judgment still awaits Time's training hand 

Or sleeps in embryo? You suffer them, 

Unanxiously, these young, fresh-hearted girls, 

To find their own right guidance and to choose 

Their path in life while ignorant of all 

Life's mystery and meaning? " 

" Ignorance 
As safely as experience can be taught 
To walk with calm, unwavering confidence 
By intuition's light. The little path 
That leads to wisdom's fountain all may find, — 
If sound of brain and pure of heart and motive, — 
And our young girls are early taught the secret. 

Nor are they limited as you suppose. 
To our small world for range of observation. 
They come and go as freely as the birds 
That flit 'tween two dear homes and two sweet sum- 
mers. 
For some have fair ancestral roofs, and hearts 
Knit by the ties of kin, as well as love. 
To fondly shelter them ; such come to us 
Of natural choice, most cordially approved 
Of guardian judgment, their time of sojourning 

78 



Depending wholly on their own desires 
Or changes natural to life's arrangements. 

We let no bonds, not even silken ones, 
Fetter the birds that help to make our summer. 

But some — not migratory — find with us 
Their only home; and such are duly given 
The needful taste of other how and where, 
By hospitality — not patronage — 
Spontaneously and cordially extended 
By some world-denizens whose hearts are with us. 

Thus you perceive that Vashti's does not aim 
To foster ignorance of aught that goes 
To round the perfect circle of a life ; 
For well it knows the beauty and the worth 
Of its exhaustless stores of priceless treasure. 
Can only be enhanced by sharpened powers, 
To weigh, compare, discriminate and value. 
And when these young souls choose — thus knowingly- 
A life devoted to our sisterhood. 
We even then accept no form of pledge; 
But bid them bend a reverent-listening ear 
To hark the first small whisper that may stir 
Within the heart with faint premonishment 
Of heirship to some happier waiting kingdom. 

But ah, how prayerfully we strive to teach 
The heart to know that voice, and not mistake 

79 



The thousand tongues that so can counterfeit 

All but its last inimitable accent! 

Love! Love! the mystic syllable that stirred 

The soul's first consciousness long ere the suns 

Evolved from chaos; Love, the immortal breath 

That quickened cold, insensate clay to feel 

And worship and reflect its Maker's image ! 

Love ! Love ! the first and final utterance 

Of system unto system, voiceless borne 

Across the vast, abysmal, starless spaces! 

And Love, the boundless, quenchless, deathless fire 

That leaps unto its own, — world unto world, 

Life unto life: — thro' hopeless prison walls 

Of dumb, impassive clay, soul unto soul ! 

Ah ! who hath learned to stand with mantled face 
And reverent spirit while Love passeth by 
And toucheth him, and whispereth to his heart 
The long-lost word of magic : lo, his name 
Is writ among the eternal stars, to ring 
Forever in the songs of seraphim ! 

How small a word ! and yet methinks it holds 
The Alpha and Omega of that theme 
The soul is set to con thro' endless cycles. 

When all is done, and we at last have found 
Nirvana — Bliss — ^Attainment — perfect Rest, 
The circle of our blessedness will be 

80 



still filled and bounded by that little word 
That babes can lisp and spell into its signs 
For us, forever new mysterious meaning. 

Then wherefore should we seek so toilsomely 
Aught else wherewith to compass this our world, 
Or wherefore strive to learn, or to impress 
On virgin hearts a word of lesser import? 

Love covereth all to whoso measureth 
Its minimum of might; or consciously 
Respondeth in his spirit to the least 
Of all its myriad minor harmonies. 
And Vashti's never-ceasing suppliance craves 
Its inspiration and full quickening 
To every heart her fostering arms enshelter. 
Once so inspired and quickened know, 
The spirit's safely poised for upward flight 
Toward higher realm and purer where the soul 
No other language speaks nor comprehends 
But Love's great music. 

Yearningly 
The Mother-heart at Vashti's watches o'er 
The youthful neophyte ; for mother-love 
Is slow to learn that deepest travailing 
Cannot avail vicariously to save 
Another from her meed of chastening. 
And Love's unerring star doth sometimes lead 

81 



Thro' pathless deserts where the soul must die 

A thousand deaths; for Love's true mission fails 

Except it guides the ego finally, — 

Thro' hard and desperate issues tho' it be — 

Out from the land of bondage. This may be 

Not till the tight calyx of our earthlier selves 

Bursts with the birth-throes of the struggling spirit; 

Or else corrodes away in the salt sea 

Of tears and suffering. Earth-bonds hold fast 

And many a strong, colossal soul requires 

Both means of liberation ere it tastes 

The fine elixir of a hard-won freedom. 

" Thy will be done ! " full reverently we strive 
To teach our mother-hearts complete response 
To that supremest prayer, when comcth Love — 
Divinest courier from the courts of Heaven — 
And spiriteth away our fairest flowers 
To the great garden of experience. 
Not ours the right by smallest obstacle 
To hinder this transplanting. For God brooks 
No interference with His plans, nor grants 
To any soul the power to liberate 
Another, from fate's toils. 

" We both were young when marriage came to us. 
Love's hand had lightly swept such surface strings 

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As wake in youthful hearts a melody 

All sweet and wild. But silent and untouched 

Lay all those deeper chords whose dominants 

Base such grave themes and living symphonies 

As once evoked go on and ever on 

In full vibration, pure and deep and strong, 

To lose themselves at last in tones so fine 

No ear but Love's can catch the strains divine. 



Now looking back how plainly I perceive 
How childish and how selfish were those prayers. 
My eager, untaught heart athirst for joy, 
Hungry for knowledge, ever crying out 
For larger sense of being, richer life 
And clearer wisdom, still refused to drink 
The cup it so had prayed for: — pushed aside 
The hand that held the very food it craved, — 
And cried and clamored on. Perverse and blind, 
The hot untutored, wilful heart of youth! 
It hears no music in the minor chords 
Evoked 'neath sorrow's hand. It sees no light 
Save in the gay, glad smile of happiness, 
Nor will believe that it may find its joy 
Save by the ways of joy. In vain for me 
The food that giveth life was daily spread 
In lavish plenty. Still I prayed for bread 



And starved and anguished on, I wanted back 
The glamour of that care-free morning-time. 



Sometimes the Father suffers us to walk 
A little way in some mistaken path 
We think is duty ; nor will turn aside 
Our footsteps till unto the utmost tried 
Our strength deserts us and our will forsakes. 
But never purposeless are these mistakes. 
For this and this alone it seems to me 
The loving wisdom suffers them to be : 
That feeling all our weakness we may grasp 
More firm the hand that holds us in its clasp : 
That painful consciousness of erring sight 
May force us nearer to the perfect light, 
Whose rays, perchance, piercing our hearts may 

show 
The lurking self that did mislead us so, — 
A self that undiscovered might become 
A power to lure us farther yet from home. 
How apt are we in our impatient moods 
To think the ways circuitous and slow 
By which we're led to wisdom needless be; 
That we a clearer light, path more direct 
Could better bear. But strangely we forget 
The winding roads and many, bramble-grown, 

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That leading from our hearts our feet have worn 
With wilful straying. 

Till by homesickness 
And longing, pain and thirst that nothing else 
Can cure, is bom the will to line a path 
Direct for home till we: grown strong and staunch 
In singleness of heart, can hew it smooth 
And strictly walk therein, nor let our feet 
Be lured aside by winding shady ways. 
'Twere all unwise our footsteps to compel 
Through paths too straitly struck. The thorns would 

tear 
And pierce us till in anguish and despair 
The lofty aspiration would be quenched: — 
The unformed soul from fostering spirit wrenched." 

She paused, and like some softly-molded sphynx 
Sat silent with that rapt, far-seeing look 
That came so oft into her deep true eyes; 
While o'er her face there stole the white high 

light 
That made her look as Beatricia might. 

What heights and depths her spirit compassed 
when 
My Soeur Marie looked so, I cannot say — 
Por always o'er me came a hush of awe; 

85 



And for the moment I too seemed to be 
Merged into formless truth's infinity. 

Gently and reverently as one would lift 
The lid to gaze upon a coffined face, 
I turned those sacred leaves. O white, white leaves ! 

consecrated book ! And can ye still 

Be less than breatliing, sensate things, to hold 
So long shut here to silentness the cries 
Wrung from that pearl-pure heart? — And I, dear 
heart, 

1 dreamed that I had suffered; — blamed swift fate 
That cut me off, at one sharp, sudden stroke 
From all I loved. — How sweetly merciful! — 

I know it now. Ah ! ScEur Marie, thine agony, 
Drawn thro' the length of lingering days that saw 
Thy wifely love slow-tortured to its death. 
Has taught my coward soul what mean the words 
" To suffer and be strong ! " 

On each brief page, 
In nervous hand, the rough staccato lines 
Were palely pencil-traced, as if they stood 
For muffled sobs, the heart they welled from meant 
Should reach no keenest ear. And as I read 
My own heart wellnigh broke, and blinding tears 
Ran do^v^l like rain as if to wash away 
The print of torturing nails and cruel spear 
That so had crucified a woman's heart. 

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O, pitying God ! To stand thus helpless by 
And see a soul in Thine own image formed, 
Fling down Thy highest gifts beneath his feet 
And trample them as swine will trample lilies ! 

And can I nothing, then, impart to him 
Of strength or wisdom, or abiding wish 
To choose the better portion? 

Then wherefore is love bom between two souls 
To weld them close till one can know no hurt 
And not the other, if the tenuous bonds 
No force can sever, prove but ropes of sand 
When desperately we try their treacherous strength 
To draw our own aback from death or danger? 

And what availeth prayer? Have I not asked 
In faith and humbleness, of thee, O Heaven, 
A boon that Love itself would sanctify 
To good ineffable? Have I craved aught 
In selfishness or worldliness of spirit? 
O Holy Father, keep thro' Thine own name, 
Those whomi Thou gavest me ! And from the world 
Of evil keep Thou them ! So even He, 
The sinless One, did pray for His beloved. 
And wert thou dumb to Him, O Heaven, as now 
Thou art to me? 

Ah ! Christ, thou patient Christ ! 
Thou all compassionate, — and was it thus 

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Thy heart — that deep, true heart, the tenderest 
That ever ached for suffering, sinful world, — 
Was hurt when Judas kist thee? 
Nay, Master, not like this, for Thou 
Could'st ne'er have loved depraved Iscariot so ! 

And yet they say of me that I am cold — 
Not tender, soft or warm, as women are 
Who are less strong! — Well, if to feel 
And suffer thus is to be hard and cold. 
And lacking woman's tenderness and warmth, 
Then make me. Heaven, as soft as molten wax, 
As warm as unslant ray of noonday sun. 
That when a hand again shall stab my heart, 
The cleanly-cloven parts together straight 
Shall melt, and leave no scar! 

And it has come — ^the worst has come at last! 
Tho' I have prayed and prayed that Thou would'st 

spare 
Me this! I said — and meant it too — that I would 

bear 
Whatever else might come; and all the past, 
Thou knowest full patiently I bore, — but oh! 
Not this ! not this ! O, tender, watchful care 
That's promised to Thy least of creatures, where 
Shall they whom Thou forsakest thenceforth go 
With their petitions? O Love! O Fatherhood, 

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L.ofC. 



In which I trusted ! I call to Thee ! I grope 
The dark that closes round me. Still must I hope 
That Thou art somewhere near — art still all-good, 
All-wise, all-kind. 

Henceforth alone, — alone. 
Asking no aid, no light ; I take my way 
Unguided thro' the night, — no longer 'prayy 
Since prayer can fail, and God forget His own! 

A vast, bare, hopeless reach. Ah ! shuddering soul. 
Must we two cross that pitiless expanse, 
Where foot hath never trod, nor eye explored. 
Nor voice disturbed its silence? Must we learn 
What felt the " Man of Sorrows," desert-bound. 
Those forty fasting days ? The " Man of Sorrows ! '* 
What man of other sort did ever walk 
A lifetime thro' on this forsaken earth? 
" He bore our griefs ! " How helps it, since ourselves 
Their whole unmitigated, toilsome weight 
Must bear, with none to lighten ? " He takes away 
The sins of the world. ' Sins of the world.' " 

How long 
Alas ! how long prayed we that He would take 
Sin from a single heart? Availed it aught? 
" If thou hast faith." Ah had we not.'^ — such faith 
As little lisping child's, that nightly craves 
Thy loving care at reverent mother's knee. 

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Poor superstition! Myth-bom fantasy 
That lures the trusting soul and tempts away 
From Reason's well-springs? Vain, delusive dream 
That snares our hearts, and makes us cringing slaves 
While joy abideth, only to betray 
And leave us desolate of prop or guide 
When sorrow comes, or stress of suffering. 

Farewell, false faith. Better the arid waste, 
With burning heat and thirst, since they be real. 
Than all thy fair, chimeric promises 
That ashes turn at touch of mortal needs. 

So it doth seem, thou soul of mine, that we 
Can keep a certain life within us ev'n here, 
Where is no throb of life nor sign that aught 
Takes cognizance that we are still in being. 

I had not thought that one could even be 
And God be not ! Well, so much have we gained 
Of knowledge, thou and I, and nevermore 
Again need fear that aught can nihilate 
Pure consciousness, or rob us of each other. 

What think'st thou, do the dead — the chilled in 

blood 
And nerve and brain — the dead that do not walk — 
Do they lie thus? Does thought go on, and sight. 
And memory, keen and clear and absolute, 
Tho' irrelate, and all divorced from feeling? 

90 



Where then must go the throbs of passion? Where 
The fierce, unslaked ambitions? Whither flees 
The proud, imperious will when round a heart 
Death's icy finger circles? 

'Tis a state 
Well worth attaining, this, methinks, where all 
The clear, gray sea of thought and reason lies 
Unrippled by the winds of will or wishing. 

How many hundred aeons since, my soul, 
Think'st thou we dreamed that God and Love were all 
Of Life? Poor feverish dream! 'Tis past, thank 

God!— 
What's that? Thank Godf Thank God? Why, 

God is not! 
God? God? O heart, be still! Wake not again 
To feel and torture me. Dost thou not know 
A heart should break but once and after that 
Forever-more be quiet? God? God.'' — that voice! — 
What! thou, my soul! That voice in thee! In 

Thee !— 

Forgive ! Forgive ! I knew Thee not. I thought — 
What was't I thought? 

And Thou hast never left me ? 
Not e'en that time when no light was, nor hope 
Nor any touch of comfort? What? 'Twas Thou? — 
Thyself.? — ^the dark, the pain, the blank despair? 

91 



O blind, that thought to know thy soul, nor knew 
The Christ that bideth in thee ! 

O blessed grief ! 

bliss of sorrowing that brought me thus 
In very truth to know Thee! Never more — 
Ah! never — never more depart Thou from me. 
Keep Thou me near, nor let this heart again 
Refuse to feel, or make some poor response 
When Thy dear Master-hand shall deign to touch 
Its dormant strings and thrill them into music. 

For long I sat enwrapt in revery, 
The little book close-clasped in hands that throbbed 
And thrilled with sympathy, whose depths till now 
My heart nor guessed nor dreamed. The o'er-full past 

1 lived again, — my own and Soeur Marie's; — 
For strangely blent in close coincidence 

Of trend and circumstance, our lives had seemed 
Like twin-born streams to take their prescient course 
Sure of the destined point of final meeting. 

Dear, white-souled Soeur Marie! I knew her now, 
The brave, sweet, pure-aspiring " other self," 
Whose image deep subconscious memory 
Had kept safe-guarded from my skeptic-veiled, 
Doubt-shrouded inner vision. Yet how had that 
So silent memory haunted! Disheartened oft, 

92 



With homesick longing had I turned away 

Prom one whose smile or accent stirred in me 

A moment's thrill of hope, to chide myself 

For foolish vague expectance. Still I harked 

Again and yet again for that dear voice, 

And waited for that smile that should betray 

The friend I yearned for — friend who should reflect 

Myself, but truer; — friend whose heart should hold. 

If not more love than mine, yet purer faith 

And larger charity ; whose life should be 

My highest dreams of virtue realized; 

Whose spirit should infold my own and lend 

The needful strength and buoyancy, and large, 

Calm courage to inspire my energies 

To scale the heights of holiest aspiration. 

Yet, tho' I waited thus, half-consciously. 
Thro' all my earlier years: when Time at last 
Brought fuller answer to the unvoiced prayer 
Than my half-hearted faith had dared prevision, 
So grief-engrained was I, so doubt-involved 
And self-absorbed, the gift I coveted 
Had long been mine ere woke the recognition. 
But ah! I knew her now at last — my friendy 
Whose patient love, despite my slow response. 
Had won me from myself, had set me free 
From cold inertia's clutch and led me far 
Along the path to Wisdom. Yes, far on 



And up that path must I unknowingly 

Have dimbed ; for lo ! the valley where her love 

Had found me, stretched in dimness far below 

The sun-kissed summits of my blessed present. — 

Blessed? even so, for revelation, sure 

And silent as the swiftly coming dawn 

Broke o'er my musing spirit. Like a voice 

From out the little book — soundless but clear — 

This message thrilled me : " O blind, that think'st ta 

know 
Thy friend, thy better self, yet knowest not 
' Where two or three be gathered in my name, 
Together, there am I.' " A mighty wave 
Of light and understanding, thrilled with the ache 
Of Love ineffable, swept over me. 
I bowed my head upon the little book 
And all the frozen deeps within me melted; 
That well-known voice, my Sceur Marie, myself — 
Where had I dreamt this blessed dream before — 
On what Love-radiant star.? A second's space 
I glimpsed that dear, adored familiar heaven, 
In banishment forgotten, yet enshrined 
Deep in the spirit's deathless memory. — 
I saw myself a dear, beloved child 
Whose place within that many-mansioned Home 
Was mine from Time's beginning — must be mine 
Tliro' all eternity. No other soul — 

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However accounted worthier than I — 
By any chance could fill. There must be 
A vacant place forever, well I knew, 
Till of my own volition I should choose 
To claim my priceless, waiting heritage. 

Ah, the love ! the love that so could cherish 
An erring, wayward, wilful-straying child 
Thro' cycles of indifference and forgetting! 
Where now the doubting heart, the wary, cold, 
Keen, skeptic reason? Where the bitterness 
That spurned the thought of wise Beneficence 
Behind the ruthless fate that worsted me 
And robbed me of my blindly worshipped idols. 

A gentle step, a touch upon my hand. 
No need for speech ; a meeting of the eyes 
And that was told that all the eloquence 
Of myriad tongues must still have left unuttered. 

Together there, beneath the dear old pine, 
We stood and watched the sun sink slowly down 
Beyond the purple hills, and with it sank 
The old grief -wrecked, doubt-freighted, useless life 
Into oblivion's sea. And with the red. 
Gold harvest moon and tremulous evening star 
Uprose my soul, re-born and purified. 

'Tis years agone, and still the fadeless light 
That dawned for me that far off blessed day 

95 



Shines on undimmed. With deep abiding peace 

I dwell among my chosen sisters, far 

From the world's troubled dream ; and when the path 

Traced for my feet leads back among the sad, 

Sick hearts that know not of the blessed balm 

That healed my own, still trustfully I follow; — 

For well I know that work the Father's love 

Hath sent His angel Sorrow to prepare 

For those who seek to know and do His will : 

Nor is it asked of me in loneliness 

To sow the seed and patiently await 

Apart from human sympathy the harvest. 

For wheresoe'er His dear hand guideth me 

Not far away walks gentle Soeur Marie. 



Where'er Thou wilt: I follow. — 'Tis enough 
That Thou hast walked this way. I will not seek 
To trace the path beyond the single step 
Before my feet. Tho' hard and steep, or drear 
And waste and desolate, I cannot fear. 

Thy love surroundeth me. Lead Thou me on. 

The End. 



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DE~. "/ 190*- 



